--------
This is part six of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
[email protected].
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (6/16)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
1/10/97
 
 

Moe and Curly hadn't had any luck tracking down Scully, and Mulder
couldn't help but feel pleased.  Now that he had his own theory about
where she was, Mulder's only concern was ditching his companions long
enough to find her.

     The real problem was figuring out a way to make that happen.
Mulder hadn't been alone for a second since Christophe released him from
his makeshift cell, with the exception of a quick stop in the hangar's
barren bathroom, where he had changed into the fresh shirt Larry handed
him and splashed a bit of water on his face.

     At the moment, the four of them were sitting in a rented sedan
parked on a side street not too far away from the El Paso Amtrak station.
Christophe had driven the car from the private airfield;  when Curly and
Moe exited the station, Curly had slipped behind the wheel and Christophe
had taken the passenger seat, ordering Mulder into the back.  There was no
sign of Larry -- the last Mulder had seen of him was when they had
departed the airport hangar -- but he could have cared less.  As far as he
was concerned, the fewer henchmen the better.

     "We've done the rounds, sir," Curly said, "and she's not
registered at any of the hotels or motels around here."

     "You're certain of that."  Christophe phrased the question as an
ominous statement.

     It was Moe, sitting next to Mulder in the back seat, who answered.
 "Positive.  And we're not the first people to check, either.  Both the
local cops and the Feds have been through here."

     Not looking under 'Masters' they haven't, Mulder thought to
himself.

     As he turned in his seat to face Mulder, Christophe's forehead
wrinkled the tiniest bit, the only outward expression of the stress he was
undoubtedly feeling.  "I find it hard to believe that you and the girl
didn't have some kind of contingency plan arranged in case you were
separated."

     Mulder shrugged, basking in private confidence.  "We're just not
the kind of people to plan ahead, I guess."

     Christophe threw the briefest of glances at Moe and before Mulder
knew what was happening, the business end of Moe's gun was tucked firmly
against his ribs.

     "I have a favorite saying, Mulder," Christophe remarked, his face
again cold as ice.  "That which is not a help is a hindrance.  And I have
no room in my life for any kind of hindrance.  So I suggest you come up
with something to prove your usefulness."

     The gun pressed to his side was a powerful encouragement to think,
and to think fast.  As he did, a new idea fluttered into his head.  Even
if Scully had gone to Elliot for help, she might not have done so in time
to get off of the train in El Paso.  The more he thought about it, the
more Mulder realized he was probably right.  She would have waited,
probably past the point that the train left the station, before taking any
course of action.  Which meant, if his theory was correct, that they would
have left the train at the next stop.

     The question that raced through his mind then was, should he
mention this to Christophe?  To do so might put the man back on her trail,
and Mulder was reluctant to risk that.  But the look in Christophe's eyes
did an effective job of convincing him that if he didn't speak, he might
not live long enough to find her.  To protect her from his menace.

     "I'm waiting, Mulder."

     Mulder made his decision.  "I don't think Scully got off the train
in El Paso."  He spoke slowly, reluctantly.  "I don't think she would have
left until she was sure that I wasn't coming back."

     Christophe regarded him closely, and then leapt to the obvious
conclusion.  "So you think she got off at the next station."

     Mulder nodded, certain that Christophe was unaware of Elliot's
existence, praying that if Scully had turned to him for help that she had
used Elliot's identity to conceal her own.

     Accepting the nod as confirmation, Christophe turned to where
Curly sat, tucked behind the steering wheel.  "What was the next stop?"

     Curly pulled a piece of paper from his jacket and checked it.
"Las Cruces," he announced.

     "Let's go," Christophe ordered, and Mulder was relieved when Moe
pulled the gun away from his side and tucked it back into his coat.

     As Curly turned on the ignition, Mulder decided the time had come
to put part of his plan into action.  "Any chance of my finding a bathroom
before we hit the road?"

     Christophe fixed him with another long look.  "I'm not in the mood
to play games."

     "Neither am I," Mulder answered evenly.
 
 

With a warm and companionable shower behind him, the newspaper in front of
him, and a cup of coffee in his hand, Elliot felt like a whole new man.
"Hey, Beck," he said as he glanced across the dining room table at her, "I
think I'm going to ride into town with Coop."

     "What for?" she asked, spooning up a mouthful of cereal.

     "I want to play around with the color graphics at the copy
center," he explained.  Drawn by the food, Tucker lurked at his side,
hoping for a piece of toasted bagel.  "See how some of the new sketches
I've done hold up as reprints.  This way I don't have to carry my
portfolio on my bike."

     "Fine with me," Rebecca answered.  "If you want to meet me at the
museum, around one, I can drive you back."

     "Exactly what I was hoping," he grinned.

     Rebecca pointed her spoon at him in mock accusation.  "You," she
told him, "are a master manipulator."

     "Hey," Elliot held up his arms in protest.  "I didn't ask -- you
offered."

     "Yes, but you knew I would," she retorted.  She took another bite
of cereal and then asked, "Are Coop and Lisa still on the computer?"

     "Think so," he replied.

     Glancing at the clock on the wall, she remarked, "If he's not
careful, he's going to be late."

     "So what else is new?"  asked Cooper as he entered, Lisa in tow.
"If you worked for the state, Beck, I don't think you'd be racing to get
to the office either."

     "You've got a point," Rebecca grinned.  "But in my car, racing is
at least an option.  I don't think that you can say the same about yours."

     "There's absolutely nothing wrong with my car," Cooper insisted.
"I've had that car since college."

     "Exactly my point," Rebecca countered, finishing the last of her
cereal.

     As Cooper guided her to a chair, Elliot noticed that Lisa's
expression was carefully neutral.  "Did you guys find what you were
looking for?"  he asked.

     "We didn't find much of anything," she replied.

     "True," said Cooper, as he grabbed a bagel from the plate in the
center of the table.  "But no news is good news, right?"

     "Right," Lisa sighed, without sounding terribly positive.

     "Good news," Cooper philosophized, "is supposed to make you
happy."   He gave Lisa's shoulder a little squeeze and said, "We'll check
again later.  I promise."

     "Okay," Lisa answered, and Elliot saw her mouth curve upwards in a
small smile.

     Carrying his bagel, Cooper headed back towards his bedroom.
"E-man, I'm just gonna jump in the shower, and then we've got to get out
of here."

     "Ready when you are," Elliot answered, and then turned to their
houseguest.  "Lisa, you want something to eat?"

     She shook her head.  "I'm not really that hungry."

     "Need anything from town?"

     Another small smile.  "I'm fine, Elliot.  But I appreciate you
asking."

     Rebecca got up from her chair, cereal bowl in hand.  "Well, Lisa,
as the boys are abandoning us, it's just you and me.  I've got to go out
to the studio and do a little bit of work.  Want to come and hang out?"

     "Sure,"  said Lisa.  "As soon as I grab a shower of my own."  She
rose from the table and threw a little wave in his general direction.
"Bye, Elliot."

     "Bye," he answered, watching as she carefully made her way back
towards the hall.  "I'll see you later."

     Glancing up at Rebecca, he saw that she too was monitoring Lisa's
slow but steady progress.   As their houseguest closed the door of their
bedroom behind her, Elliot whispered, "I wish there was more I could do to
help her."

     "I don't think that asking for help comes easily to her," Rebecca
answered sagely, and then carried her dishes into the kitchen.
 
 

They pulled up outside a family-style restaurant and Mulder climbed out of
the car, Curly slipping from behind the steering wheel to follow at his
heels.  Reaching into his pocket, Christophe pulled out the tracking
device and indicated the blinking red dot with a pointed finger.  "I'm
going to be very angry if this moves."

     Mulder gave him a nod and headed for the door with Curly dogging
his steps.  The restaurant was really just a fast-food joint in disguise,
but Mulder had a feeling it would serve his purposes.  He approached the
ponytailed hostess who stood behind a menu-covered podium and asked, "Can
you tell me where the restroom is, please?"

     "Around the corner and down the hall," said the girl, whose
nametag labeled her as 'Jackie'.

     "Thanks," Mulder told her, throwing her a smile.  He glanced at
Curly whose hand moved slightly towards the pocket of his coat, indicating
that he, too, carried a weapon.  Mulder waited for Curly to follow, but
the thug merely took up a stance against the lobby wall.  "Make it quick,"
he instructed, and Mulder nodded.

     Alone, Mulder walked around the corner and down the hall which was
decorated with a couple of ugly framed prints.   He stifled a shout of
satisfaction on seeing the two pay phones hanging on the wall between the
doors marking the entrances to the men's and women's facilities.  Hurry,
he thought needlessly, well aware that he didn't have much time.

     Grabbing the closest phone, he dialed the private number as
quickly as he could.  He knew that they would be expecting him to rattle
off a number and hang up, but he didn't have the time to wait for them to
call back.  He'd just have to talk fast and hope that they listened.

     Three rings and then Mulder heard Langly's voice.  "Hello?"

     "It's me," he said quickly.  "Don't hang up."   The line remained
open and he raced through the rest of his message.  "We've been separated
and I'm in trouble.  I need you to look for her.  Start in Las Cruces, New
Mexico and work west -- I think she'll be in a motel under 'Elliot
Masters'.  I'll call you back when I can."

     Mulder heard the sound of footsteps behind him and slammed the
receiver back into its cradle, not waiting for a response.  The footsteps
turned out to belong to a heavyset woman who smiled at him politely as she
entered the ladies room.

          His mission accomplished, Mulder turned and headed back
towards the lobby, where he knew Curly would be waiting.
 
 

     After the boys left, Rebecca took Lisa by the arm, and they made
their way across the yard to the studio in silence that was broken only by
Tucker's occasional barks as he trotted beside them.   Rebecca wasn't sure
what to say that wouldn't sound silly or trite, so she remained quiet.
She unlocked the door, Lisa waiting quietly beside her, and then she led
the way inside.  She helped Lisa get settled atop a stool near the wall,
and then moved towards the table and began sorting through the contact
sheets she'd developed the previous day.

     After a time, Lisa remarked, "You have an interesting name,
Rebecca.   It makes me wonder what you look like."

     Rebecca chuckled.  "My father's family comes from Spain," she
explained.  "I have cousins who live there -- I spent a summer with them a
couple years ago.  The other side of the family is Irish;  I was named
after my maternal grandmother."

     "So?"

     "So, what?"  Concentrating on the proofs, Rebecca realized the
thread of the conversation had escaped her.

     "What do you look like?"

     "Oh..... dark hair -- curly hair, much darker, and longer, than
yours -- and dark eyes.  Olive skin.  The exact opposite of Elliot, in
case you were wondering.  He's a sandy blond who gets burned just thinking
about the sun."

     Lisa grinned.  "I can relate."

     They fell silent again, but the quiet was more companionable this
time.   Rebecca used a small magnifier to examine the various shots, using
a grease pencil to circle the best ones, pleased that there were so many
good ones from which to choose.

     "What is it that you're doing?"  Lisa finally asked.

     "I took a bunch of photos for the museum," Rebecca responded,
"examples of the work I could do for them if they give me the job.  Now
I'm reviewing the proofs, looking for the best shots.  I've got to turn in
the contact sheets by noon today."

     Lisa nodded slowly, digesting the information.  "It must be nice
to do such creative work," she remarked.  Sitting near her feet, Tucker
barked once in agreement.

     Rebecca laughed.  "Well, I don't know how creative these
particular shots are, but I do enjoy photography.  It's not the easiest
way to make a living, though.  My parents haven't ever gotten over the
idea that I didn't pursue some sort of regular career, you know?
Something where I could wear a suit every day, and work in an office.  But
I just couldn't do that -- it's not me.  As much as I wanted to make them
happy, I just couldn't."  The long explanation suddenly seemed
embarrassing.   "Sorry -- I didn't mean to babble on like that."

     "You didn't," Lisa assured her.  "I know what you mean.   And I
think you did the right thing.  You have to do what makes you happy....
even if it isn't what people expect you to do."

     There was something about the tone of Lisa's voice that caused
Rebecca to look up from what she was doing.  The expression on the young
woman's face was thoughtful, reflective, and Rebecca sensed that at some
point she'd made a similar decision.   Curiosity flooded her but she
hesitated, unsure how to frame her question.  Finally, she decided on a
general approach and asked, "What is it that makes you happy, Lisa?"

     "Not much, lately."

     "Oh."  Rebecca's cheeks flamed at the curt reply and she turned
back to her work, feeling hurt and more than a bit stupid for asking the
question in the first place.
 
 

"Rebecca -- I'm sorry."  Scully hastened to apologize, ashamed of her own
rudeness.  "I didn't mean that the way it sounded.  I'm... I guess I'm
just a little bit on edge.  I didn't mean to snap at you."

     "That's okay.  I understand."  The words were strained, polite.

     "The thing is, you don't."  Scully searched for words to explain
herself.  "You don't, and you can't.   I can't let you."

     Rebecca didn't respond at first, and when she did, she spoke
softly.  "I didn't mean to pry, Lisa.  But you can't blame me for being
curious."

     "I know," Scully replied.  "But the one thing I can't really talk
about is my work."  She hesitated, then decided it was safe to say just a
little bit more.  "In a way, that's what got me into trouble in the first
place."

     "Talking about work?"

     "No," Scully said.  "Doing it.   The work, I mean.   It wasn't the
easiest job in the world."

     "But did you like it?"

     A sigh escaped her and Scully nodded.  "I did.  I really did."
An understatement, really.  For the first time since they'd left D.C.,
Scully realized that it wasn't just her home and her family that she'd
been missing.    Realized how much her job with the Bureau had meant to
her, how much she had loved being a federal agent.

     There's no going back now, she thought ruefully.   Even if somehow
she did manage to find Mulder and they were actually able to clear their
names, that part of her life was over forever.  After all, there wasn't
much call in the federal government for a blind agent.

     "Is that how you met your husband?"

     Rebecca's question brought her back from where she had been
trembling once again on the edge of tears.  Scully murmured her assent,
afraid to fully trust her voice just yet.

     "What's he like?"

     "What's he like..."  She knew it shouldn't be so difficult to
answer, but it was so hard to sum Mulder up in a few simple words.
"He's... he's brilliant.  He's smart and he's funny... and he can be very
very stubborn.  Well, not stubborn, exactly.  More like driven.   Very
focused and intense."

     The sound of papers rustling preceded Rebecca's response.
"Doesn't sound like the easiest kind of guy to get along with."

      "Not by a long shot,"  Scully agreed with a chuckle.  "He doesn't
make friends easily, either -- and the ones he does have are a little bit
odd."   She pictured the Lone Gunmen and the vision made her laugh harder.

     "What's so funny?"

     "Nothing, really.   Just thinking."

     "Well," said Rebecca with a laugh of her own, "obviously you
figured out a way to get along with him, since you married him."

     Scully nodded wistfully.  "We do just fine.  I'm very lucky... to
have him in my life."

     "I'd say he's pretty lucky to have you in his."

     Her mind suddenly kicking into overdrive, Scully didn't bother to
respond to Rebecca's last comment.  Instead, she asked, "Rebecca, do you
have Cooper's number at the office?"

     "Of course."

     "Can we call him?  I have a question I want to ask him."

     "Sure," Rebecca answered.  "Let me just finish this and we'll go
back to the house."  She paused, then added, "As long as you agree to
start calling me Beck."

     "It's a deal," Scully grinned.
 
 

Here endeth part 6... parts 7-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-6                                X-6
 

From [email protected] Tue Feb 25 12:38:26 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (7/16)
From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:38:26 GMT
--------
This is part seven of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
[email protected].
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (7/16)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
1/10/97
 
 

The stale smell of cigarette smoke alerted Skinner to the man's arrival
before the door even opened.  "Welcome back, Mr. Skinner," said the man as
he entered, crossing to stand beside his desk.

     Skinner looked up at him with barely concealed disgust.  "I don't
suppose it does any good to remind you that this is a non-smoking
building."

     The man gave him a half-hearted smile and took another drag.  "How
was your trip to Texas?"

     "I'm surprised you're even bothering to ask the question," Skinner
retorted.  "I would venture to guess that you knew he was gone before I
did."

     "You give me too much credit," the man replied.  "I do, however,
have some concerns as to how you're handling the situation."

     "Oh, you do, do you?"  Skinner rose from his chair and met the
man's stare head on.  "Let me guess.  You've come down here with some
half-baked reason as to why we need to scale back on the search.  Well let
me tell *you* something instead."   He paused for effect, making every
word count.  "I will *not* scale back on the search.  I intend to devote
every available resource at the Bureau's command to finding Mulder and
Scully and this man who helped Mulder escape.  And I defy anyone to try
and stop me."

     The man raised an eyebrow but made no other response, merely
continuing to look him in the eye.   The stare was direct enough to be
uncomfortable, but Skinner was in no mood to back down.   It was the
stench of the nicotine that finally caused him to add, "If there's nothing
I can do for you, I've got some work to take care of."

     "Certainly, Mr. Skinner," the man responded.  "Far be it from me
to keep you from your work."  With that, he turned and walked out of the
office, leaving a trail of smoke behind him.

     Skinner waited until the door shut behind the man before sinking
back down into his leather desk chair, feeling more than a bit puzzled by
the brief interchange.  He had no idea what the man had up his sleeve, but
he had the sinking feeling that this little visit was only a precursor to
a more insidious future assault.
 
 

Cooper stared at the blueprint for what seemed like the zillionth time.
It was a particularly complex design, and he'd been fine-tuning it with
painstaking precision, wanting to catch any flaws before submitting it.
So far, so good, he thought, holding it up for yet another appraisal.

     The knock at his office door startled him and he almost dropped
the blueprint, but he recovered in time to say, "Come in."

     "Hey, Coop," said Rebecca as she opened the door.  "Is this an
okay time?"

     Rebecca was dressed in a suit instead of her usual jeans, looking
every inch the consummate professional, and Cooper threw her a smile of
approval.  Lisa was standing beside her, holding on to her arm with a grip
that betrayed her discomfort at the unfamiliar surroundings.

     "Sure," Cooper replied, rising from behind his desk.   He pulled
one of the guest chairs forward and Rebecca guided Lisa towards it.
"Perfect timing, actually."

     "Thanks for letting me come down," Lisa said as she sat down,
pulling off her navy coat to reveal a plaid flannel shirt beneath.  "I
really appreciate it."

     "Not a problem," he told her.

     Rebecca was already moving back towards the door.  "I've got to
run, guys -- my meeting's in fifteen minutes.  Lisa, will you be okay
until I get back?"

     "Sure," Lisa replied, just as Cooper said, "Don't worry, I'll take
care of her."

     Rebecca raised an eyebrow at him and threw him a grin that Cooper
was suddenly thankful Lisa couldn't see.  "I'm sure you will.   Lisa, make
sure he behaves himself."

     The comment made Lisa laugh.  "Will do."

     With that, Rebecca left, pulling the door shut behind her.  Cooper
turned to Lisa and asked, "So, what's up?  On the phone, you said
something about needing to use the computer here at the office?"

     "I want to post a message to an internet board," she explained,
"but I don't want it to be easily traced."  She paused, a small frown
wrinkling her brow.  "Are you sure that your company has a public
address?"

     Cooper nodded, then remembered that he needed to use words.  "I'm
sure.  We have two options -- we can log on using an address that consists
of our first and last names, or we can use the 'company screenname'.   Of
course, anyone that wanted to trace it could trace it back to this firm,
but not to me directly."

     Lisa considered his statement for a moment and then nodded.  "I
guess that's the best we can do."

     "Let's get on it then."  Cooper went back and sat behind his desk
and attacked the computer.  "Give me a minute," he told her, "and I'll get
to the boards.  Where am I going?"

     "Alt.conspiracy," she answered, tucking a wayward strand of hair
behind her ear.  Cooper caught himself watching and looked away, trying to
concentrate on the matter at hand.

     After a few minutes, he was where he needed to be.  "Go for it,"
he instructed.  "What's the subject?"

     "Say that it's regarding 'The Lone Gunmen Theory',"  she said.
"Capitalize all of the words, and be sure that you spell 'Gunmen' with an
'e' instead of an 'a'."

     Cooper looked up at her in surprise.  "If you're talking about the
grassy knoll kind of gunman, you're spelling it wrong."

     "Trust me," Lisa replied, and shot a sweet smile in his direction
that wiped everything else straight out of his mind.

     Focus, Coop, he told himself, as he applied himself to the task of
typing up the rest of her very strange message.
 
 

Thanks to unusually heavy traffic, it was afternoon by the time they
arrived in Las Cruces, and Mulder's mind was working overtime to formulate
a plan of action.

     The concern that was uppermost in his mind was the steel bracelet.
 Understanding how it worked was crucial to his escape;  he had no idea
where Christophe was keeping the electronic key and doubted that he could
get his hands on it anyway.  So removing the bracelet wasn't a
possibility, at least at this point.  Which meant that his only option was
to somehow jam the system, at least temporarily.

     But how?   This was the problem that he'd set his mind upon, and
he hadn't quite figured out the solution.   He decided that the best way
to figure out how it worked was to test it, but he harbored the secret
fear that if he tried to run, Christophe might opt to cut his losses and
just kill him.

     It was a risk, Mulder decided, that he had to take.

     Curly parked the car in the Amtrak station lot, and as they
exited, Mulder looked around for an opportunity.  There weren't a lot of
people in the parking lot, however, so the timing wasn't right.  Not yet.

     Curly stayed with the car, and Mulder obediently accompanied
Christophe and Moe towards the entrance, wondering again just where Larry
had gone.  The only possible explanation, he decided, was that Christophe
had ordered the man to remain in El Paso with the plane.

     Like the parking lot, the station was fairly empty.  As they
approached the ticket counter, Mulder spotted a possible opportunity.
Unlike some of the other stations that he had been in, this one boasted a
metal security detector and an X-ray conveyor belt that separated the main
area of the terminal from the passenger loading platform, in a set-up was
identical to that of an airport.  It seemed reasonable that the detector
would jam Christophe's security device, at least momentarily, which was
all that Mulder needed.

     The only problem was, he didn't know how he could possibly get
near the machine.  Moe was standing so close to him that they were
practically sharing air, and Mulder didn't doubt that the man would shoot,
given an opportunity.

     Resigned, Mulder decided to file his discovery away for later,
hoping that circumstances would change before they left the station.  With
Moe right beside him, Mulder followed Christophe up to the counter, where
Christophe again presented his false credentials to the clerk.   She was
an older woman, and Christophe's smile made her eager to please.  Tapping
into the system computer, she checked the most recent records, but came up
with nothing under either Lisa Wilder or Lisa Stewart.

     A trilling buzz rang out, startling them all with the sound.
Looking around, Mulder realized that it was coming from the metal security
detector.  As he watched, the guard directed the woman who had set off the
detector away from the other passengers, pulling a thin, wand-shaped
security device from his belt.  He ran the device across the woman's body,
revealing the source of the disturbance to be a necklace that she was
wearing;  the woman removed it and passed through the main detector
unmolested.

     An idea forming in the back of his mind, Mulder turned back and
pretended to focus on Christophe's interrogation of the clerk, not wanting
Moe to follow his train of thought.

     "Unfortunately, sir, we don't keep records of the stations where
people disembark."  The clerk shook her head ruefully.  "I'm sure it would
be easier if we did, but we don't."

     His demeanor unruffled, Christophe was cool in his reply.  "But
you *can* verify that the woman we're seeking did not buy another ticket
at this location."

     "That's correct, sir.  I wish I could be of more help."

     Christophe dismissed the clerk with a nod and stepped away, Moe
right behind.  Daring to make a move, Mulder asked the clerk, "I was
wondering why this particular station is equipped with that security
checkpoint."

     "Oh," she replied, "it's because we're so close to the border
here.  There have been some incidents, and it doesn't pay to take any
chances."

     "No, it doesn't," Mulder agreed.  He desperately wanted to ask her
if the security guard carried a gun, but Moe glanced back at him so he
merely thanked the woman and moved away.

     As they exited the station, Mulder noticed that the sky was
darkening, ominous gray clouds gathering to blot out the waning sunlight.
 Christophe drew his attention away from thoughts of the pending storm by
saying, "Well, it appears that the girl didn't leave here by taking
another train.  But there are other ways out of Las Cruces, and we're
going to explore every single one."

     Mulder didn't doubt him for a moment.
 
 

It was getting late when Skinner pulled his car up to the curb and parked,
debating for a moment whether he should have called before coming over.
As he climbed out of the car he decided that his instincts had been
correct.  A phone call would have inevitably resulted in a detailed
conversation, and this was something he felt would be better discussed in
person.

     Knowing he had put this off long enough, Skinner made his way up
the steps to the front door, noting the landscaping of the front yard with
appreciation.  The lawns and shrubs were well maintained, small potted
plants lining the walk.   He reached the door and rang the bell, fixing
the lapels of his suit with nervous hands.

     The woman who opened the door was dressed casually in a sweater
and slacks, her dark hair graced by gentle streaks of gray.  The eyes that
regarded him carefully were as wide and blue as her daughter's, a few tiny
wrinkles on her fair skin her only other concession to age.  "Hello,
Walter." She greeted him with an informality that had developed during
their previous meetings, many of which had taken place within hospital
corridors.  She said nothing further, as though to say more would be to
invite bad news.

     "Hello, Margaret," Skinner said.  "May I come in for a moment?"

     "Of course," she replied, pulling the door open further to allow
him entrance.  She led the way into the living room, which was simply but
elegantly furnished, and offered him a seat.

     Skinner sat down on the couch and she took a chair directly across
from him, sitting ramrod straight with her hands folded in her lap.  "Do
you have news about Dana?"

     So hard, thought Skinner, so hard.

     Aloud, he said, "My call to you yesterday may have been a bit
premature."

     Margaret Scully sighed, the sound one of resignation.  "The man
they arrested.  It wasn't Fox."

     Skinner shook his head.  "On the contrary, I'm fairly certain that
it was."

     "What do you mean by *was*?   Is -- is he --"

     "No, it's nothing like that,"  Skinner hastened to reassure her.
"As far as I know, Agent Mulder is alive and well.  But when I reached
Texas, he was gone.   Someone managed to get him out of jail, using false
credentials in my name."

     "Who would have done such a thing?"  Margaret asked, confusion
evident on her face.

     "I have no idea," Skinner shrugged.  "That's what we're in the
process of trying to find out."

     Margaret nodded, accepting the information.  "And Dana?

     "There's been no sign of her yet.  We've searched the area
thoroughly -- local agents and the police are still searching -- but thus
far we've turned up nothing."  Skinner paused and then added, "I'm sorry."

     Margaret closed her eyes, drawing her lips together in a visible
gathering of strength, and then met his gaze once more.  "I know you are.
 And I appreciate all that you are doing to try and find her.  I just wish
there was some news..."

     Her voice trailed off into silence, making Skinner acutely aware
of how hard this was on her.  He had never mentioned anything to Margaret
about the rumors of Scully's blindness, and it was at times like this that
he felt that he had done the right thing by concealing that information
from her.  There was no point, he felt, in adding to her already heavy
burden of worry and grief.
 
 

"We won't stop until we find her,"  Skinner declared with conviction, and
Margaret desperately wanted to believe him.  The idea of losing yet
another daughter was unfathomable to her, yet she woke each morning filled
with the dread that it might turn out to be so.

     A thought struck her and she asked, "Fox didn't say anything about
Dana while they had him in custody?"

     Skinner shook his head.  "Not a word.  The police chief put the
question to him directly, and he refused to talk.  My suspicion is that he
was trying to protect her."

     A small bit of relief coursed its way through her body, and
Margaret held tightly to the shred of hope.  "There wouldn't be any reason
for him to keep silent if something had happened to her, would there."

     "My thoughts exactly," Skinner confirmed.  "We're close, Margaret,
I'm sure of it.  This is the closest we've been since their disappearance.
  It's only a matter of time now."

     "I hope so," she told him, praying that his words would prove to
be true.

     "I should be getting back," he said, rising to his feet.

     Margaret nodded and stood as well, leading the way back to the
front door.   She held it open for him and as he stepped outside she said,
"Please, Walter, you have to let me know if you hear anything.  Anything
at all."

     "I will," he replied, and she could see in his eyes that he meant
it.  She uttered a silent thanks for this man, who had been so tireless
and diligent in his search for her missing daughter.

     Turning away, Skinner walked towards his car and Margaret stood in
the doorway and watched until he drove off, taking with him all of her
hopes.
 
 

It was easier than Mulder had expected to work his phone trick a second
time.

     They were in another restaurant, this one a bit more upscale than
the last, but still nothing that would rate four stars in any reputable
guide book.  The four of them had stopped for dinner, as though they were
a companionable group of friends on a road trip instead of three hired
guns and a hostage.

     This time, it was Moe who rose from the table to accompany him,
and Mulder was dismayed to find that he was better at following orders
than Curly, walking with him every step of the way.  For this reason,
Mulder wasn't too upset when he failed to see any pay phones near the
restrooms, as there would be no opportunity to make a call.

     Carrying out the charade, Mulder entered the restroom but Moe
stopped just outside, having apparently decided that orders would be
followed only so far.  Inside, Mulder was elated to discover that the
restaurant, with pretensions of grandeur, had equipped the restroom with a
lounge area that included two gaudy chairs and one beautiful pay phone in
perfect working order.

     Checking his watch, Mulder saw that it was just past six o'clock.
Nearly nine hours had passed since his first call that morning;  hopefully
the Gunmen would have had the time to come up with something.  With
trembling fingers, knowing Moe could push open the door at any moment,
Mulder dialed the number and counted the rings.   It connected right after
the second, and Byers' voice hurtled across the line.  "Hello?"

     "It's me.  Find anything?"

     "No luck on that search."

     Mulder's heart stopped.  He'd been so sure...

     "But we may have something else."

     "What ?"

     "Something we pulled off of the Net during our daily sweep.  It
was posted to the conspiracy message board."

     His heart began to beat again.  "Read it to me."

     "Subject header says, 'Re: The Lone Gunmen Theory'.   The message
that follows is, 'I believe there were three of you on the grassy knoll.
I'm looking for a redwood among mere sprouts'."

     "I think that's you."  It was Frohike's voice that interrupted.
"I described you that way to her once."

     "There's more," Byers continued.  " 'If you find him, tell him I'm
safe and staying with Barney Northrup.'  It's signed, 'Enigmatic Doc'."

     Mulder felt a wash of relief flood over him.  "It's her," he said
excitedly.  "When did you get this?"

     "This afternoon," Frohike replied.  "But we couldn't figure out
who she meant by 'Barney Northrup'."

     "It's from a story," Mulder said.  "No time to explain.  I need
you to get a home address on that name I gave you before, Elliot Masters."

     "Already got that," Langly chimed in.  "We looked that up when you
first asked about him.  He's just outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico."

     Mulder committed the address Langly gave him to memory and then
asked, "Can you post a reply to this message?"

     "We can do anything," Byers responded.

     Mulder couldn't help but smile.  He gave them his reply and then
hung up the phone, feeling better than he had in a long, long while.
 
 

Here endeth part 7... parts 8-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-7
               X-7
 

From [email protected] Tue Feb 25 12:40:18 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (8/16)
From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:40:18 GMT
--------
This is part eight of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler
Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there
are problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
[email protected].
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (8/16)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
1/10/97
 
 

It was late, night having fallen with a cold dark vengeance, yet the man
remained in his office, his desk illuminated by an antique lamp.  The file
that he was reviewing was best read alone and away from prying eyes who
might disapprove of the agenda of certain men who operated outside the
constraints of normal law.

     The man flipped a page and then lit another cigarette, his motions
so practiced as to be unconscious.  He drew in a long breath and then
exhaled with satisfaction, pleased by what he was reading.  Pleased by the
fact that they trusted him enough to allow him to read it.

     The file was broken down into several different sections, all of
which combined to outline a master plan, a strategy which had enormous
potential ramifications if properly executed.  According to the research
that had been done, the method was now available.  Every possible test had
been conducted, with complete success.

     The time had come to put the project into motion.

     Each page of the document referred to the test subject only by a
coded number.   The man was one of the people who had the privilege of
knowing that the number 2-65-49557
referred to Dana Katherine Scully.

     Finished at last, the man closed the file and placed it inside a
thin attache case that rested across his desk.   He fastened both of the
locks on the case, spinning the combination wheels around several times,
leaving the numbers in a confused jumble.   He would return the attache
case on his way home, as instructed;  they trusted him enough to let him
read the information, but not enough to let him keep it.  Not yet.

     The man was certain, however, that his success in returning both
the disk and Dana Scully to the men of the Consortium would finally prove
his worth to them, making him a valued part of their circle.

     Picking up the attache case, the man turned off the lamp on the
desk and walked out of the office, finishing his cigarette as he made his
way through the darkened halls of the building.
 
 

The rain that had begun as a gentle pattering against the windows had
graduated into a major downpour.  Scully had always loved the rain, and
there was something about the sound that she found soothing even now, when
she had so much else on her mind.   Against the backdrop of falling water,
she could hear Tucker's collar jangling as he paced around the room,
trapped inside thanks to the storm.

     Scully shifted her position on the living room couch, sliding
further back against the cushions.  It was a comfortable piece of
furniture and she suspected that it had served as a bed on more than one
occasion.  The television was on, playing a rerun of "Seinfeld".  Though
she hadn't ever been a big fan of sitcoms, she had discovered since the
explosion that they generally made for more interesting listening than
dramas -- there was a lot more talking and a lot less music.

     Elliot was sitting at a table on the other side of the room,
working on something, and Scully could hear the intermittent scratch of
pencils against paper as he sketched.  From time to time, they shared a
laugh at a particular joke from the television, and she welcomed the
companionable interaction.

     The show cut to a commercial and Scully heard the sound of
Elliot's chair scrape against the floor.  "I'm going to get a beer," he
said.  "Do you want anything?"

     Scully shook her head.  "No," she told him.  "I'm fine."

     "Be right back."  He paused and then added, "I hope Beck and Coop
get home soon.  This storm is getting worse by the minute."

     "It sounds like it," she agreed.  In an ironic twist, considering
his proud words at breakfast, Cooper's car had chosen this particular day
to break down.  After Rebecca had volunteered to pick him up, he had opted
to leave the car at the office and deal with it over the weekend,
hopefully after the storm had passed.

     Scully heard Elliot's footsteps cross the room and then recede,
and then it was quiet save an advertisement for some new detergent.  She
sighed, trying to quell her anticipation.   It was ridiculous, she knew,
to expect a response to the message she had sent, but she couldn't help
but be hopeful.   More than anything else, the passivity was draining her.
  She wanted to be doing something, anything, to try and find Mulder, but
she was at a loss as to what else she could do that wouldn't jeopardize
her newfound friends.  She wasn't equipped to mount a search for Mulder on
her own, and to ask Elliot and his roommates to help her more than they
already had just didn't seem fair.

     But Scully knew she had to do something, and soon.  Her fear for
Mulder was growing, becoming a tangible, palpable thing that threatened to
consume her.

     Tucker barked twice in quick succession and then Scully heard him
race out of the room.  In the distance, a door slammed, and then the sound
of voices mingling in the kitchen reached her ears.   Anxious, she rose up
from the couch, and with slow, careful steps, she made her way in the
direction of the noise.
 
 

"I'm telling you, Coop, it's time for an upgrade," Rebecca declared as she
pulled off her wet jacket and hung it on the back of the door.

     "Not on your life, Beck," Cooper replied, tossing his own coat on
the back of a chair as was his habit.  Beside him, Tucker chose that
particular moment to shake off the excess water he'd brought in from
outside when he'd greeted them, and Cooper winced as he was hit with the
spray.  "Damn, Tucker!"  he cried, shaking the dog playfully by the scruff
of the neck.  "Do I look like I need a bath?"

     Elliot burst out laughing at the sight.  "Maybe you should take
the hint," he chuckled, pulling a handful of beers from the fridge.
"Anybody in the mood for some of Sam Adams finest?"

     "Definitely," said Rebecca, grabbing one of the bottles.  "Here's
to new cars," she teased as she popped off the top.

     Taking a bottle for himself, Cooper announced, "I think we should
drink to new jobs."  He watched Elliot's face as comprehension set in and
his mouth opened in surprise.

     "Beck, did you get the job?"  Elliot asked, and Rebecca nodded,
her face splitting into an ear to ear grin.

     "I just found out when I went into town," she explained.  "I was
waiting for Coop and I decided to swing by the museum...."

     "Congratulations!"  Cooper watched with satisfaction as Elliot
pulled his girlfriend into his arms and rewarded her with a big kiss.
"I'm so proud of you," he said.  Throwing a wry glance in Cooper's
direction, he added, "Though I wish you wouldn't have told him first."

     "You snooze, you lose," Cooper grinned, taking a long, satisfying
sip of his beer.  He heard the sound of footsteps and looked up to see
Lisa standing in the doorway, her dark hair pulled back in a loose
ponytail.  "Hey, Lisa.  Care to join us for an impromptu happy hour?"

     "No thanks," she declined with a smile.  "Elliot already offered."

     "Rebecca got the job!"  Elliot proudly announced.

     "Congratulations, Beck," said Lisa.  "I'm happy for you."

     "Thanks, Lisa," Rebecca replied, twining her arms around Elliot
and leaning in for another kiss.

     Amidst the frivolity in the room, Cooper couldn't help but notice
that Lisa seemed awfully subdued.  "Are you okay?"  he asked her, lowering
his voice.

     "I'm fine, thanks.  I was just wondering..."  She hesitated, and a
slight blush of color rose in her cheeks.  "It might not be the right time
-- I know you just got back -- but I was wondering if we could use your
computer to check the message boards on the Net."

     "No problem," he told her, watching her face brighten as a result.
 Carrying his beer in one hand, he walked over and took her by the arm
with the other.  "Come on."  He threw a glance towards his roommates and
said, "We'll catch you guys later."

     "Later," they echoed, almost in tandem, with Elliot adding, "Hey,
it's my night to cook -- any requests?"

     "Just make it edible," Cooper replied, and Lisa chuckled as she
accompanied him down the hallway.

          Inside his room, Cooper settled Lisa on the bed and then
booted up the computer, listening to it whir and hum as it ran through the
startup procedures.   Turning on the modem he logged onto his service
provider, typing in his password and then waiting, the singsong sound of
the modem ringing in his ears as it connected.

     Lisa didn't say a word as she waited, and Cooper stole a look at
her over his shoulder.   She was sitting on the bed, one leg tucked up
beneath her, the other dangling over the side.  Her posture was relaxed,
with the exception of her hands.  They were clasped in her lap, fingers
tightly interlaced, and Cooper found himself hoping that he'd find some
good news to give her.

     Finally, he reached the message boards and double-clicked on
"alt.conspiracy", waiting as the machine retrieved the latest listings.
"I'm in, Lisa," he told her, using the mouse to scroll down the list,
scanning each subject header closely.

     Out of the corner of his eye Cooper saw her nod, but she made no
other response.

     He was nearly to the end of the list when he saw it.   "I think
we've got something," he announced, double-clicking on the item.

     "What?"

     "The subject header says, 'Attn: Enigmatic Doc'," he told her.
"That's the way we signed your post, right?"

     "Yes, yes... what's the message?"  The words poured from her lips
in a rush.

     "There's only two lines of text.  It says, 'Stay put, Doc.  Sam
Westing is on his way.' "

     Lisa gasped and Cooper spun in his seat to see her hands fly up to
her mouth in a gesture of elated surprise.  "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my
God..."

     "What does it mean?"  Cooper asked her, certain from her reaction
that the news was good.  "Who's Sam Westing?"

     "It's him, Mul --  Rick, my husband," Lisa said, stumbling over
her words in excitement.  "It means he's okay, it's from that book,
Elliot's book, no one else would respond like that but him, he's alive....
oh, God, he's alive..."

     Cooper noticed with some alarm that her joy had given way to
stronger emotions, her shoulders shaking as she began to cry.  He slipped
out of his chair and sat down beside her on the bed, putting a hesitant
arm around her in an attempt to give her comfort.  "Of course he is,
Lisa," he said.  "I never doubted it for a minute."

     "I -- I didn't either," she admitted softly, resting her head
against his shoulder.  "But I was so afraid for him..."

     He held her gently until her tears began to subside.  Lifting her
head from his shoulder, Lisa rubbed the sleeve of her turtleneck across
her face in an attempt to wipe away the evidence.  "I'm sorry," she
murmured.  "I didn't mean to break down like that."  She gave an
embarrassed shrug.  "Lately it seems like everything makes me cry."

     "That's okay," Cooper assured her, not sure what else to say.  He
started to pull his arm away but Lisa drew him close, embracing him in a
very brief but very real hug.  She felt warm and soft in his arms and her
hair smelled like spring as it brushed against his cheek.

     "Thanks, Cooper," she told him as she released him.  Throwing a
smile in his direction, Lisa stood up and made her way towards the door.

     "No problem," he responded automatically, his body still thrumming
from the unexpected effect of her touch.   He stared after her until she
was gone, suddenly realizing he was incredibly jealous of a man he'd never
met.
 
 

Mulder had to admit that the cheap motel was a step up from his
accommodations the previous evening, although at least when he'd been
locked in the airport hangar he had been free to move around, whereas now
his left wrist was cuffed to the bed.

     Not to mention the fact that Curly was asleep on the opposite bed,
gun held firmly in hand.

     Asleep, and snoring.

     Beggars can't be choosers, Mulder thought wryly, unable to shake
his good mood.

     <she'ssafeshe'ssafeandalivealivealive>

     The phone call with the Gunmen had elevated his spirits more than
he had ever thought possible, eliminating all of the nagging doubts and
fears he had had about Scully's safety.   Now, it was only a matter of
time.

     Time, and a bit of strategic planning.

     The fact that there were still several seemingly unsurmountable
obstacles to be conquered did nothing to quench his enthusiasm.  Mulder
was nothing if not determined, and now that his goal was in sight, there
was nothing that would stop him.  Not Christophe and not an army of
Christophe's goons.

     For the moment, however, there was nothing he could do save wait
for morning.

     Tomorrow, he thought with satisfaction.  Tomorrow....

     His plan firmly in mind, Mulder shut his eyes and did his best to
ignore Curly's snoring, knowing that the most important thing he could do
for now was get some sleep.
 
 

Christophe sat on the bed, a glass of sparkling water on the nighttable
beside him.   He never allowed himself to indulge in alcohol, preferring
to keep his wits about him at all times, wanting his mind to be as precise
and accurate as the weapons he used.

     He knew that time was growing short, and it bothered him that he
was still so far from achieving his goal.  At least they had not run
across any problems with the law.  He had been prepared to use the phony
FBI credentials again if need be, if someone had spotted Mulder with them
and asked inappropriate questions, but it hadn't yet proved necessary.
That, Christophe supposed, was one thing to be thankful for.

     The one thing that he did not want to do was to underestimate his
hostage.  Taking a sip of water, Christophe admitted to himself that
Mulder was an interesting adversary, at the very least.    He was
undeniably very smart, and it wasn't terribly surprising that he had
managed to elude capture as long as he had.   His stubborn chivalry when
it came to the girl was particularly amusing;  Christophe himself had
little doubt that she was indeed blind, based on the reports that Vincent
had delivered to him before his untimely death.  Yet he allowed Mulder to
persist in the fantasy that he was keeping something from him.  It was all
part of the game.

     What Christophe found fascinating was that Mulder exhibited none
of the behavior that he would have expected, given the circumstances.  On
the contrary, the former agent was a model prisoner, almost sanguine in
his captivity, which Christophe took as a major warning.  He had expected
Mulder to have tried something by now;  the fact that he hadn't signalled
that he had some scheme up his sleeve.   What that was, however,
Christophe didn't know.  And until he figured it out, he would be a fool
not to remain on his guard.

     He heard the sound of a key in the door and looked up expectantly.
 Not feeling that Mulder needed two bodyguards, he had ordered Simon, the
more experienced man, to continue the search.

     The door opened and Simon entered.  "I've got some news," he said,
shaking the rain off of his coat.

     "Which is?"

     Closing the door behind him, Simon crossed to sit on the opposite
bed.  "A guy at the bus station in town thinks he remembers seeing the
girl."

     "She bought a ticket?  Headed where?"

     "He's not sure, but he's pretty positive it was day before
yesterday."

     Christophe nodded, considering the information.  "It's a start, at
least."

     "There's more -- she wasn't traveling alone."

     "Really..."  Finally, Christophe thought, they had something to
work with.  "Did you get a name?"

     "No," Simon replied.  "But I got a description.  It's a little
vague, but chances are, he's somebody she met on the train.  I figure we
could track him down that way."

     "Excellent idea," Christophe agreed.  Pulling out his cellular
phone, he dialed a long distance number and waited for the line to
connect.
 
 

Finally showered and dressed, Rebecca walked down the hall, making a
mental note to talk to Cooper about taking a look at the hot water heater.
 It wasn't any fun being the fourth person in the shower on a cold
November morning, especially with a pile of long curly hair to wash.

     Wandering into the living room, Rebecca found Elliot seated at his
usual table, Tucker curled up on the floor beside him.  There was loud
music playing on the stereo and he was hard at work, his forehead
scrunched in concentration as his pencil flew across the page.  "How's it
going?" she wondered.

     "Good," he said, looking up at her with a pleased expression.  "I
just woke up this morning feeling inspired, I guess -- it's almost like I
can't get the ideas out fast enough.  Check this out."  He held up a
drawing for her examination and Rebecca nodded with enthusiasm.

     "That's terrific," she told him, dropping a kiss on his forehead
as a reward.  "This is still part of the fantasy series, isn't it?"

     "Yep," he replied, admiring the drawing again himself.  "I'm on a
roll here, Beck -- I bet I can finish three more of these by tonight,
especially if this weather keeps up."

     "Well aren't you the lucky one," Rebecca sighed.  "I, on the other
hand, have to go into town."  Moving towards the window, she gazed out at
the pouring rain with dismay.  It had been coming down in buckets all
night, and though the weather report the previous evening had predicted a
quick storm, it showed no signs of letting up.

     "Can't you put it off?"  Elliot asked, a frown crossing his face.
"I don't like the idea of you driving in this weather."

     Though she was secretly pleased by his concern, she brushed his
remark aside.  "I'm a big girl, Elliot -- I think I can handle driving in
the rain," she grinned.  "Besides, I don't have much of a choice.  I'm
supposed to meet with the museum director today to go over some of her
ideas."

     "On a Saturday?  Who works on a Saturday?"

     "You do," Rebecca pointed out, and he conceded with a smile.

     "Okay, okay," he said.  "I get the message.  Just be careful, will
you?"

     "Will do," she promised.  "What are Coop and Lisa up to?"

     Elliot picked up a blue pencil and began to sketch again as he
replied.  "Coop's in his room, talking on the phone, and Lisa's in the
kitchen, having some cereal."  He lowered his voice and said, "Do you
think Rick's going to get here today?"

     "I don't know," she answered, her own words hushed.  "Depends on
where he's coming from."  She paused, then added, "Don't you dare let him
leave before I get home.  I'm dying of curiosity."

     "Don't worry," he assured her.  "I won't.  I think you'll like
him."

     "If he's as great as Lisa says he is, I'm sure I will."  Rebecca
kissed Elliot goodbye, and then went in search of her umbrella.
 
 

Here endeth part 8... parts 9-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-8                                X-8
 

From [email protected] Tue Feb 25 12:42:49 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (9/16)
From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:42:49 GMT
--------
This is part nine of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
[email protected].
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (9/16)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
1/10/97
 
 

Despite the pouring rain, the Las Cruces Amtrak station was much more
crowded than the previous day, and Mulder chalked up the activity to the
fact that the weekend had arrived.   Christophe had been vague about his
reasons for returning to the station, but it was of no importance to
Mulder.   He was just glad that he had another chance to put his plan into
motion.

     It was Moe's job to remain with the car this time around, and
Mulder walked beside Christophe and Curly, biding his time and waiting for
the appropriate moment.  There was a different clerk on duty at the
counter from the previous day, a young man who responded to Christophe's
bogus ID with equal respect.  Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder watched
Curly closely, waiting until the man's attention was diverted by a sexy
blonde in a tight sweater.  Moving as quickly as he dared, Mulder edged
away from them, hoping that both men would remain preoccupied until he was
able to get far enough away.

     Luck was with him, and Mulder managed to slip through a crowded
line of prospective passengers before Christophe noticed his absence.
Glancing over his shoulder, Mulder saw Christophe break off his
interrogation to call Curly's attention to his escape.  As Curly headed
towards him, Mulder broke into a run, sprinting towards the metal
detector.

     Reaching the line of passengers waiting to put their bags through
the X-ray machine, Mulder skirted his way to the front and darted his way
through the metal detector.  As he had expected, the detector went off, a
trilling buzz alerting the attendants to the fact that he was carrying
something potentially illegal on his person.

     "Step aside, please," the security guard instructed him, and
Mulder did as he was told, glancing over his shoulder to spot Curly no
more than forty feet away.   The guard pulled the security wand out of his
belt and waved it over him.  As it passed over his left arm, the wand
emitted a chirping sound, which was all Mulder needed to hear.   Knowing
that he would only have one chance, he leapt into action.

     Grabbing the wand from the guard with his left hand, Mulder
viciously elbowed the man in the ribs with his right, the unexpected blow
knocking him to the ground, causing the two passengers immediately behind
him to fall in his wake.  Curly was no more than ten feet away now, and
Mulder jumped over the huddled group of people, dashing down the stairs on
the other side of the metal detector.

     There were quite a few people on the stairs and Mulder jogged
around them, holding tight to the stolen wand.  He was expecting to take
the stairs all the way to the train platform below, but halfway down he
found an alarmed security door and crashed through it, revealing a
hallway.  The alarm went off, the ringing sound causing pandemonium on the
staircase and creating an additional logjam that pleased him as he
sprinted into the hall.

     Curly was relentless, however, and Mulder could tell from the
sound of pounding footsteps that the man was gaining on him.

     Hide, hide, hide.... the thought pulsed in the back of his mind
and he searched the hallway desperately but it was empty, without even a
single door save the one that he could just see at the corridor's end.   A
tiny idle part of his mind wondered why Curly didn't just shoot him there
in the hallway, but Mulder wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He just kept running.

     Reaching the door at the end of the hall, Mulder threw it open,
elated to find himself outside, at the far end of the parking lot.
Forcing his legs to keep churning, he headed out into the pouring rain,
thankful for the windbreaker Moe had given him.  Glancing behind him he
saw that Curly was falling slightly behind, his shorter stature proving to
be something of a hindrance.

     Mulder ran out of the parking lot and darted into the street into
the midst of oncoming traffic.  Horns blared at him but he ignored them,
zigzagging between the cars, hearing the screech of brakes as they swerved
on the wet pavement to avoid hitting him.   He made it to the other side
of the street, desperation forcing him to quicken his pace.
 
 

Christophe strode out of the station on a rising tide of fury, ignoring
the rain that drenched his coat.   As instructed, Simon was waiting in the
car.  "What's going on?"

     "Mulder is gone," Christophe hissed between clenched teeth as he
climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.  Pulling the
small black device from inside his jacket, he was relieved to see the
small red dot in motion amongst the neon green gridwork.  "And I promise
you, when I find him, he will pay for this.  Let's go."

     Obediently, Simon fired up the engine.  "Take a left at the
corner," Christophe instructed.   As the car pulled away from the curb,
his cellular phone rang, and Christophe answered it brusquely.

     "Yes?"

     "You sound agitated, Christophe."  It was the man's voice that
hurtled across the line.  "Is there something wrong?"

     "No," Christophe replied, hoping the man couldn't hear the
screeching sound of their tires as the car made a sharp left turn, the car
skidding on the wet street.  "Everything is under control."

     "Good," said the man, with a loud exhale.  "I think we're close to
finding the young man you seek.  There were only two men on that train
traveling alone who fit the description your associate obtained;  we're
checking the identities on both of them now."

     This, at least, was good news.  "How should I proceed?"
Christophe asked.  Using his hand, he indicated to Simon that another left
turn was in order.

     "Get the plane, and wait for my call."

     "Done," said Christophe, and switched off the phone.  Glancing at
the device, he told Simon to take a right.
 
 

He'd come five blocks, and yet Curly was still on his tail.  Glancing
around, Mulder saw a busy intersection at the end of the street and headed
for it, feet pounding against the pavement.   Luck was with him when he
reached the intersection;  a delivery truck was just pulling into an open
industrial garage, and Mulder ducked behind it, running alongside it,
praying that Curly hadn't seen him.

     There were a multitude of trucks inside the garage, and Mulder ran
amongst them until he reached the furthest wall, flattening his body
against the side of the truck that was parked there.  Gasping for breath,
he unzipped the soaked windbreaker and pulled it off.   He then took the
security wand and slipped it inside the sleeve of his shirt, resting its
sensor directly against the metal band of the bracelet he wore.  It began
chirping wildly, the sound muffled slightly by his shirt, the rapid beeps
matching the pounding of his heart.

     Mulder pulled off his belt and used it to awkwardly fasten the
device to his arm.   That task accomplished, he pulled the windbreaker
back on and then crouched down by the tires of the truck.   Now, it was
time to wait and see if his plan had indeed been successful.
 
 

They were approaching another intersection, wipers scraping furiously
against the window, when Simon interrupted him. "Sir, it's Kurt."

     Christophe looked up from the device and saw his other employee
standing on the corner, looking wildly around in all directions.   "Get
him," he said.

     As Simon maneuvered the car towards the curb, the device emitted a
strange low beep and then fell silent.  Glancing back at it, Christophe
was horrified to see that the readout was frozen, the red dot no longer
blinking, the neon green grid slightly faded in color.  "This cannot be
happening," he muttered, shaking the device to no effect.

     Kurt walked over to the car and leaned into the open window.  He
was soaking wet and out of breath, and Christophe glared at him in
disgust.  "You lost him."

     Kurt replied with a nod, standing as quietly as he was able,
waiting for further instructions.

     The blood rising in his veins, Christophe shook the device again,
but the result was the same, the red dot almost insolent in its stillness.

     "Sir," Kurt said, water dripping down his face, "he stole the
guard's security wand.  I think he may be using it to jam our system."

     Christophe allowed the anger to flood him completely, using his
rage to focus his mind.  "This isn't a big city," he told his employees,
"and he can't have gone far.  *Find* him.  Find him, and bring him back to
me."

     Christophe stepped out of the car and into the rain, indicating
for Kurt to take the seat he had just vacated.  As he did so, Kurt asked,
"If he doesn't want to come back?"  The words were laced with dark
implication.

     "I don't want him killed," Christophe ordered.  "Mr. Mulder is
mine to deal with."  As he moved away from the car, he added, "Keep me
posted as to your progress on this phone."

     "Where are you going?"  Simon asked, starting the motor again.

     "To the plane," Christophe replied darkly, his ire rising.  "This
is far from over."
 
 

Mulder waited as patiently as he was able, watching the endless sweep of
the second hand on his watch until it had made fifteen revolutions.
Fifteen minutes... unable to wait a moment longer, he hoped that the fact
that he hadn't yet been tracked down meant that his trick had worked, that
he had been successful in jamming the device.

     Rising to his feet, Mulder scanned the garage.  There were two men
talking in an office at the far end, but otherwise, the coast was
completely clear.

     Moving fast, he made his way back to the front of the garage.
Finding a pedestrian door he pushed it open, checking the street before
stepping outside.  The deluge of rain that had pelted him only a short
time before had trickled away to almost nothing, which was a relief.
The street was crowded with people, and Mulder slipped in amongst them,
careful not to jostle the security wand, still fastened to his arm
underneath his jacket.

     He turned left at the first street and spotted a grocery store
across the way;  the parking lot was packed with cars and Mulder figured
it was a golden opportunity.  He darted across the street against the
light and scooted into the lot, making his way quickly to the far end.
Hopefully far enough away from prying eyes, he began to search the cars,
looking for one in good condition not protected by an alarm or a security
club.

     Luck was with him and he found a relatively new Honda that didn't
have the telltale red alarm light blinking in the dash.  Pulling the
sleeve of the windbreaker down over his left hand, Mulder bashed in the
window, glancing around to see if anyone had heard the sound of shattering
glass.  He saw nothing, so he opened the door and slipped behind the
wheel, fumbling beneath the dash for the wires that he needed.  It was
awkward work, what with the security wand still tied to his arm, but he
had the engine running in seconds.  The thought flashed through his head
that Bureau training was good for something, after all.

     Putting the car in gear, Mulder saw that the gas gauge was nearly
full, and a smile crossed his face as he pulled out of the parking lot.
 
 

As Simon drove up and down the streets of the city, Kurt kept his face
pressed to the window, searching desperately for their escaped prisoner.
He was acutely aware of the fact that he was solely to blame for Mulder's
escape, and he hoped that finding the man would lessen the punishment that
he would undoubtedly receive.

     "Faster," Kurt said with desperation.  "We've got a lot of ground
to cover."

     Simon didn't bother to respond, but Kurt felt the car accelerate.
"Which way?" he asked.  "Right or left?"

     "Right,"  Kurt replied, not really having an opinion one way or
another.

     The car turned right, Kurt's eyes peeled, glancing at every
pedestrian, every passing car.  Up ahead, he saw the green and white sign
announcing a freeway interchange, and seconds later, noticed a green Honda
Accord edging towards the right, towards the north onramp.   Though he
couldn't see the driver from so far away, there was something urgent in
the motion of the car that caught his attention.

     "Take that onramp up ahead,"  Kurt instructed, praying that he was
right and that he had just caught a glimpse of their quarry.
 
 

Mulder glanced at the freeway sign as he piloted the car up the ramp with
his left hand, his right arm still wired up and hanging at his side.  The
white letters informed him that he was entering the 25 Freeway North,
which seemed right.   As he merged with traffic, speeding all the way over
to the far left lane, he discovered that he had indeed made the correct
choice.   Whizzing past a mileage sign, he found that he was 247 miles
from Albuquerque, which meant he was headed in the proper direction.  If
memory served, Santa Fe was no more than an hour or so beyond Albuquerque.

     Doing a quick mental calculation, Mulder figured that if his luck
held out, he'd be in Santa Fe in about four hours.  Hang on, Dana, he
thought.  Only four more hours.

     Energized by these thoughts, he darted around a Ford truck that
wasn't going fast enough for his tastes, returning to the fast lane to
find the road clear ahead.   Slamming the gas pedal to the floor, Mulder
continued on his way.
 
 

The rental sedan was old and not in the best condition, but Las Cruces
wasn't a big city, and Christophe had been forced to take what he could
get.    He was frustrated by the waste of time, but there wasn't a closer
airfield where the pilot could land the plane;  it made more sense for him
to drive back to El Paso and meet with Mike there.

     Christophe threw a glance at the mobile phone laying on the seat
next to him, waiting for it to ring.  Waiting for news of Kurt and Simon's
progress, and more importantly, waiting for another call from the man.
Once he had the location of the mysterious man who had departed Las Cruces
with the girl by bus, he would be on his way.  If nothing else, Christophe
vowed, he would succeed in finding the girl and bringing her back.
 
 

Mulder hadn't gone ten miles when he spotted the gray rental car in his
rearview mirror.   It was maybe a half mile behind him, but the way it was
weaving through traffic had his heart pounding.

     No, no, no, he thought, glancing down at his right arm.  The
security wand was still in place, and he could still hear the telltale
chirp which made him certain that he was still jamming the tracking
device.  Which meant that if he was being followed, it was through
old-fashioned hard work, not technology.

     Two can play at that game, Mulder thought grimly, twisting the
wheel hard to the right, skipping around two slower cars and again taking
the lead.  Behind him, the gray rental car speeded up, and he realized
with a sinking feeling that his suspicions were right.   They were on his
tail.  He had to do something, and fast.
 
 

"That's definitely him," Kurt announced as their car edged closer.

     "What now?"  Simon asked, hands tight on the wheel.  "Force him
off the road?"

     Reflecting for a moment, he nodded in response.  "Think so."
Glancing around, Kurt noticed how crowded the freeway was.   It was the
only major north-south interchange in the state, so it made sense, but it
also made things difficult, especially in light of Christophe's
instructions.  "But be careful -- we can't afford a slip up.  Boss wants
him alive."

     "I've got it under control," Simon replied, his mouth tightening
in a grim line.
 
 

The rain had now stopped entirely, making the driving a lot easier.   So
far, Mulder had managed to keep ahead of his pursuers, but just barely.
Miles had passed, and they were still on his tail, but thus far they
hadn't made any moves to try and stop him.   He was surprised that they
hadn't started shooting at him, and he didn't think that the relatively
heavy traffic was the only reason.

     In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of the passengers in
the pursuit car, noticing that only Moe and Curly were inside.  There was
no sign of Christophe, and that made Mulder extremely nervous.  Where was
the man?  And why had he sent his henchmen on alone?

     Mulder pushed that thought aside for the moment, concentrating on
the matter at hand.  Most likely, Moe and Curly had been given orders to
merely follow him, which was probably the same reason that Curly had
failed to shoot at him when he'd chased him out of the Amtrak station.  He
suspected that their objective was just to track him, but where he was
headed, Mulder wasn't about to let them follow.

     Up ahead, Mulder saw that the road narrowed up ahead, the
four-lane highway becoming two as it wound towards a series of hills.   An
idea began forming in the back of his mind, and he accelerated further,
pushing the Honda to its limit.
 
 

Driving like a demon, Christophe was halfway back to El Paso when the
phone rang.   He grabbed it immediately, leaving one hand on the wheel.
"Yes?"

     It was the man, his voice wavering thanks to the static-filled
connection.  "We've found the young man you're looking for."

     "Where?"

     "Santa Fe, New Mexico.  His name is Elliot Masters."  The man
paused, then asked, "How long until this situation is resolved?"

     Christophe did some fast thinking and replied, "No more than a
couple of hours.  I'll call you as soon as I have the girl."

     "I'll be waiting," the man said, and then the line went dead.
 
 

It was a ridiculous plan, and Mulder knew it, but he didn't see that he
had any other options.   He had to lose his pursuers once and for all, and
if it meant taking a risk, he would do it.  The element of surprise was
his only weapon, and he was more than ready to use it.

     The car whined as it made its way up the grade and Mulder glanced
at the fuel tank.   The indicator had slid down a great deal, his nearly
full tank now down to a quarter.  But there was more than enough fuel to
make his move, and he decided that the time had come.

     Reaching the top of the next rise, Mulder checked the lanes of
oncoming traffic headed his way on the opposite side of the freeway.
There was no median at this point on the road, two lanes of traffic racing
by in either direction.   The hills were close to the road here, rising
like tiny mountains that loomed over the cars.  He was in the fast lane,
and there weren't any cars near him in the slow lane;  behind him, there
was one car between him and his pursuers.   Slowing down slightly, Mulder
allowed that car to race up towards him, holding steady at this newer,
slower speed.   As he had hoped, the car became frustrated, its driver
moving the car into the other lane where it passed him, leaving him alone
in the fast lane with his pursuers.

     The first step to his plan accomplished, Mulder checked the
oncoming traffic again.   There were five or six scattered cars heading
his way in the two opposite lanes, but behind them there was empty open
road.

          His car wound around the next turn, his pursuers close
behind him now, and Mulder braced himself, knowing that the moment was now
or never.   As the last of the oncoming cars passed him, headed south
towards Las Cruces, Mulder tightened his grip on the steering wheel.   He
grit his teeth and turned the wheel sharply to the left, throwing the car
into a squealing skid as he swerved across the double yellow and into the
opposite lane.

     His plan worked better than he ever would have dreamed.  As he
fought to straighten out the car, Mulder glanced out his window and saw
Moe attempt to copy his action, spinning his own steering wheel
frantically.   The road was still wet from the rain and Moe's car went
into a vicious skid, sliding across the pavement with a wild screech of
tires.   Rather than completing the turn, the pursuit car went into a
savage 360-degree spin, drifting across the freeway with uncontrollable
speed.  His eyes on their car, Mulder almost lost control of his own, his
mouth opening in shock as the pursuit car crashed into the side barrier
and barrelled sideways into the hill, exploding into flames immediately on
impact.

     Stunned, Mulder maneuvered his own car over to the side of the
road, watching as cars on the opposite side of the freeway honked and
swerved in an effort to avoid the fiery crash.   His body shaking, Mulder
climbed out of his car and stared at the wreck, acrid smoke burning his
eyes, even from this distance.

     Mulder stood where he was, watching the car burn, waiting for any
sign of life.   He waited long enough to hear the sound of approaching
sirens, but he saw no one emerge from the flaming wreck.  He had wanted to
stop his pursuers, and he had succeeded.   A brief twinge of remorse raced
through him at the thought of the two dead men, but he ruthlessly shoved
it aside.   He had done what he had to do.

     As the emergency vehicles arrived, Mulder climbed back in his car,
heading south towards the next exit.   He had to change direction again,
but he was going to do it the legal way this time.
 
 

"Now that the rain has stopped, I think I'm heading into town," Elliot
said.

     "What for?"  Cooper asked from his lazy perch on the couch.

     "I can't draw anymore today, and I'm dying for something to read,
so I'm going to the bookstore.  Besides," he added with a devilish grin,
"we're almost out of beer, and we don't want to find ourselves
empty-handed on a Saturday night."

     "Be gone, young man!  Be gone," Cooper replied with a grin of his
own.

     "Aye, aye, captain," Elliot responded.  He crossed to the chair
where Lisa was sitting and gave her shoulder a little squeeze.  "And as
for you -- don't even think about leaving before I get back.  I want to
say goodbye."

     "I wouldn't dream of it," she assured him with a grin.  "Don't
worry -- we'll be here when you get back."

     "Good," Elliot said.  "You guys need anything?"

     "Pick up a copy of Newsweek while you're at the store," Cooper
instructed.

     "Done," Elliot grinned.  "See you guys in a bit."   He grabbed the
keys to his bike and gave Tucker's head a scratch as he passed.  "Keep an
eye on things while I'm gone, Tuck."  The dog answered him with a bark,
and he headed out the door.
 
 

Christophe drove the rental car straight out onto the airfield, stopping
it with a squeal of brakes a short distance from the plane.   He was
pleased to notice that the engine was already up and running, per his
instructions.   He climbed out of the car and sprinted towards the air
stairs, taking them two at a time.

     Mike was waiting inside the plane, and nodded in greeting.  "We're
ready to go, sir," he said.  "Where to?"

     "Santa Fe," Christophe ordered.  "And tell the pilot to make it
fast."
 
 

Here endeth part 9... parts 10-16 posted simultaneously.   Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-9
               X-9
 

From [email protected] Tue Feb 25 12:44:37 1997
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: **NEW** - "A Divided Highway" (10/16)
From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Date: 25 Feb 1997 18:44:37 GMT
--------
This is part ten of a sixteen-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
[email protected].
 
 

A DIVIDED HIGHWAY (10/16)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
1/10/97
 
 

Margaret Scully glanced at her watch.  It was only a little past five but
it was almost totally dark outside now, the last rays of cold November sun
slipping away to leave the eastern seaboard in darkness.   No longer able
to see the words on the page she was reading, she closed the book rather
than turning on the lamp on the table beside her, deciding that the time
had come to start some dinner.

     Walking into the kitchen, Margaret tried to shake the uneasy
feeling that she'd had since waking.   She had been feeling edgy ever
since Skinner's visit the previous day.  Though she hadn't dared dream
that he would return from Texas with her daughter in tow, she had at least
hoped for some more substantial news, and it was difficult to reconcile
herself to the disappointing result of his trip.

     Taking a head of lettuce and some vegetables out of the
refrigerator bin, Margaret carried them over to the counter and began to
prepare a salad.  There was some chicken in the freezer that she could
broil.   Not much of a dinner, but then she didn't have much of an
appetite.

     Margaret's thoughts wandered back to another cold November day, a
day that had dawned bright after weeks of bleak despair.  A phone call had
brought her to the hospital and she had sat in a chair next to the
hospital bed, her eyes closed in a litany of endless prayer as she held
the hand of her sleeping younger daughter.   She had listened as Dana's
breathing changed cadence, and had opened her eyes in time to see her
daughter's blue ones flutter open and wearily meet her gaze.

     She was so strong, her Dana.  A fighter, from the time that she
was a little girl.  There had never been a challenge that she hadn't met
head on, and she had managed to win the battle with the coma that had
almost claimed her life.

     Margaret could only hope that her daughter would continue to be so
lucky.

     Fox is with her, Margaret reminded herself.  He's watching out for
her, and she's doing the same for him.  She was aware that their bond
transcended mere partnership, and had known it for quite some time,
despite Dana's claims to the contrary.   She had heard it in the way that
her daughter spoke of the man with whom she worked, and she had seen it
quite clearly in the time that she had spent with Fox during Dana's
disappearance.   Margaret knew, with a mother's intuition, that they were
in love.  Regardless of whether they had ever admitted that fact to each
other, she was certain that it was this love was the cornerstone of their
relationship, and it always had been.

     She prayed that wherever they were, their love for one another
would be enough to keep them safe.
 
 

Headed north on the freeway once again, Mulder raced along the freeway at
top speed, heedless of the other cars on the road.  He kept a cautious eye
out as he drove, but he saw no other suspicious cars approaching.  He was
still shaken from seeing the crash, all too aware that the same thing
could have happened to him.   And, as much as he had wanted to lose his
pursuers, his goal had not necessarily been to kill them.

     You did what you had to do, he reminded himself, putting the
incident behind him and focusing on the object of his quest.

     <DanaDanaDanaDanaDana>

     Mulder couldn't shake a nagging fear that Christophe's absence
from the pursuit car was of dire significance.  For some reason, he was
all too certain that the real trouble was only just beginning.

     Glancing down at the fuel gauge, he noticed with dismay that the
needle was now solidly fixed in the red zone.  Although he hated the idea
of stopping for gas, there was no way he could afford to run out, and he
still had too far to go to try and chance it.   Thankful for the stolen
money that was still tucked in the pocket of his jeans, Mulder guided the
car to the far right lane and took the next exit.
 
 

"I'm starving," Cooper announced.  "Want anything from the kitchen?"

     "What are you getting?" Lisa asked.

     "Pretzels, probably," he responded.  "I don't know what else there
is to munch on."

     "Pretzels sound good," she told him.

     "Coming up," he replied, and headed into the kitchen, Tucker
following at his heels.

     Inside the kitchen, Cooper opened up the fridge, checking to see
if there was anything more interesting to eat, but found nothing that
didn't require serious preparation.  Behind him,
Tucker was pacing in anxious circles, throwing occasional barks at the
back door.  "What's the matter with you, boy?"  Cooper wondered, but the
dog gave no reply.

     As he opened the cupboard, he heard the sound that had Tucker so
agitated.  It was the motor of an approaching car, and it drew his
attention to the window.  Cooper watched as the car pulled up and parked
outside the gate at the bottom of the hill.  The car was unfamiliar to
him, as were the two men who sat inside, and something about it sent a
chill down his spine.

     "Lisa," he called out to her, "what does Rick look like?"

     "Why?"  she replied, and he heard the sound of her footsteps
against the hardwood floor.

     "There's a car at the bottom of the hill," he answered, watching
as the men climbed out of the car.  "The two men inside are headed this
way."

     As she approached, she described her husband to him, and Cooper
noticed with some alarm that the description didn't fit either of the men,
though he couldn't be sure from this distance.  One of the men was
definitely too short, and there was a decidedly menacing air about the
other, taller man, that made him uneasy.

     "Lisa," he said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant, "I think we
need to get out of here."

     She was right behind him now, and he turned to look at her,
watching as the color drained out of her face.  "Who are they?"  she
asked, a tremor in her voice.

     "I don't know," he responded, "but I don't think they're door to
door salesmen."

     Acting on instinct, Cooper took Tucker by the collar and led him
into the laundry room, shutting the door behind him.  Tucker began to bark
wildly in protest but Cooper ignored him.  He didn't want to risk having
Tucker follow them and alert the men to their presence.

     Glancing back out the window, he saw the shorter man unlatch the
gate, holding it open, and they both walked through, allowing the gate to
fall shut behind them.  Cooper's mind was racing, searching frantically
for options, wishing desperately that he had his car.

     "Come on," he said, taking Lisa firmly by the arm.  They couldn't
go out through the kitchen, or the front door for that matter;  they'd be
spotted the instant they hit the yard.  Thinking fast, Cooper led the way
down the hall, towards Beck and Elliot's room.   He shut the door firmly
behind them and then crossed to the window, releasing his grasp of Lisa as
he pushed it open.

     "What are we doing?"  Lisa said, her voice low.

     "Getting out of here," he muttered.  "Through the window.  Work
with me, here."

     Lisa nodded and offered him her arms and he boosted her up onto
the sill.   The window was just wide enough for him to squeeze out with
her still seated on the ledge;  outside, he easily dropped the couple of
feet to the ground and then reached up and lifted her down.  She stood
beside him, waiting, as he pulled the window shut again.

     Taking her by the hand, he said, "Let's go."

     "Where?"

     "The hills," he grimly replied.  "After that, I don't know."
 
 

Back on the road, the fuel tank full now, Mulder pushed the gas pedal down
as far as it would go.  He kept only a cursory eye on the speedometer.  At
this point, he would have dared any traffic cop to try and stop him.  He
passed a posted sign that announced that he was 20 miles outside of Santa
Fe.   According to the map he'd bought at the gas station, Elliot's house
was about fifteen miles from the center of town.

     "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he urged the car, as though sheer words
would make the vehicle move faster.  He swerved the car into the fast
lane, restlessly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.  No more than
thirty minutes, he told himself, and kept driving.
 
 

They went up behind the house on the north side, Cooper leading Lisa as
fast as he dared.  There was a sparse gathering of trees at the top of the
first rise, a half-mile from the house, and he stopped them there.   The
trees were too small to offer much protection, but from this distance,
Cooper felt it might be enough.

     Besides, from this vantage point, he was still able to see the
house.

     In the minutes that they had been crouched there, waiting, Cooper
had only seen one of the men.  He had made a half-hearted attempt to get
into the barn;  when he didn't try and break down the door, Cooper knew
that at least one of his suspicions about the men were correct.  They
weren't thieves, at least not of the ordinary variety.  There was no sign
of the men now, and he assumed that they were inside the house, waiting.

     It was cold outside, and Cooper cursed himself for not having
thought to grab any jackets before they made their escape.   Lisa was
wearing a turtleneck shirt, but he could feel her shivering beside him.
He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and pulled it off, the cold air
immediately slicing through the long-sleeved tee he wore beneath.   "Put
this on," he told her, placing the shirt in her hands.

     "I'm fine," she insisted, though the tone of her voice indicated
otherwise.

     "Put it on," Cooper repeated.  "It's cold, and I don't know how
long we'll have to stay out here."

     His words seemed to get through to her and she slipped on the
shirt, fumbling for the buttons with shaking fingers.
 
 

Cooper's shirt was big, and Scully rolled up the sleeves, wanting to be
sure that her hands were free.  Its warmth made her feel a little better
physically, but her nerves were still on edge.  Reaching out, she found
Cooper's arm with her hand and squeezed it gently.

     "What's happening?"  she asked.

     "They're still inside the house.  I don't know what they're
doing."

     This is not happening, a desperate part of her mind insisted, but
Scully knew better.   She was frightened by the arrival of these
strangers, as much for Mulder as for herself.   There was no way for
anyone to know where she was hiding, unless the message she sent to Mulder
had somehow been intercepted.   His reply had sounded as though everything
was okay;   Scully couldn't bear to think about what might have happened
to him since then.

     Though Scully had no idea who the mysterious men were, she knew
why they were there.  And she didn't want to put Cooper into more jeopardy
without him knowing the truth.

     "They're looking for me," she told him.  "More specifically,
they're looking for this."  Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans,
she pulled out the disk, laying it in her palm.

     "What is it?"

     "Funny thing is, I'm not exactly sure."  Scully hesitated, then
decided to finish.  "But it's important enough that people have killed for
it.  I lost my eyesight trying to retrieve it.  No matter what, I can't
lose it."
 
 

Cooper looked at the object in her hand.  It didn't look like much to him,
a shiny metal circle that resembled a mini-compact disc, marked with a
bunch of color-coded grooves.  If not for her words, he would have assumed
that it was a piece of somebody's computer harddrive.  Then again, he
thought, it might be exactly that -- a piece of a harddrive that carried
information worth dying for.

     His throat felt suddenly dry, and Cooper forced himself to swallow
as he raised his head to look at her.  At first glance, her expression
seemed calm, but when he looked more closely he could see the tight lines
of her jaw.  Though her unfocused blue eyes were staring just past him,
there was no mistaking the determination in her face.

     "What do you want to do with it?"  he finally asked.

     "We have to hide it.  I can't take the risk of their finding it on
me."

     Cooper nodded, thinking.   The house was obviously out, and he
didn't want to risk going back to the barn;  the chances of being spotted
were too great.  They couldn't bury it in the damp ground, as they had
nothing to use to protect it from the elements, and there was too great a
chance that the rain would return and wash it away.  Glancing around him,
Cooper searched for an answer, finding it in the hills beyond.

     "Come on," he said, helping Lisa to her feet.

     She slipped the disk back into the pocket of her jeans and asked,
"Where to now?"

     "Remember the mines I told you about?"  At Lisa's nod, he
continued.  "There's one not too far from here.  We can hide it there, at
least for a little while;  it's too wet out here for us to do anything
else with it."

     Lisa weighed his words for a moment and then nodded, reaching for
his arm.  "Let's go."
 
 

Rebecca saw the rental car parked just outside the gate and felt her heart
quicken with anticipation.   He's here, she thought excitedly, leaping out
of the Jeep and pulling open the gate.  Driving up to park by the barn,
she noticed that Elliot's bike wasn't in its usual spot.   Wondering idly
where he'd gone, she grabbed her bag out of the back seat and headed
towards the house.

     As she opened the kitchen door and stepped inside, Rebecca
realized that something was amiss, but at first she couldn't figure out
exactly what it was.   She heard the muffled sound of Tucker's barks and
had time to wonder why he hadn't come rushing up to greet her before the
unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked reached her ears.

     "Hold it right there," an unfamiliar voice instructed, but Rebecca
hadn't ever been one for following orders and she turned to see a strange
man standing just behind her, tucked behind the open doorway, his gun
pointed directly at her head.

     "Oh my God..."  Suddenly her heart was pounding loud enough to
drown out everything else, and Rebecca barely heard the man's next words.

     "Drop the bag, and step inside."

     Moving on auto-pilot, she did as she was told, walking further
into the kitchen, her now-empty hands at her side.  It was then that she
noticed the second man, standing near the door to the dining room, and
Rebecca unconsciously fisted her hands as a wave of terror swept over her.

     This second man was tall and cut an imposing figure, and if
circumstances had been different, Rebecca would have described him as
good-looking.   Now, however, he merely seemed menacing, approaching her
with an insouciant stride.   Though this man didn't appear to be armed, he
wasn't any less threatening, and the smile that crossed his face carried
the unmistakable aura of pure evil.

     "Where is she?"  the man asked, by way of introduction.

     "Wh -- who?"  Rebecca replied instinctively.

     "The woman who's been staying with you," the man responded.  "Her
things are in the bedroom.  I need to know where she is."

     Rebecca's mind was whirling in confusion, a dizzying sensation
that was only exacerbated by the feel of the other man's gun as it pressed
against her back.  "No..." she whimpered, too paralyzed to say anything
more.

     It was as though the taller man sensed her panic.  He made a small
motion with his head and the gun was removed from her spine, though from
the corner of her eye, she could see that it was still pointed at her.
"Let's try this again," the man said.  "I don't want to hurt you -- I have
no interest in you whatsoever.  I just need to find the girl, and I need
to find a disk that she's carrying.  You help me with that, and I promise,
no harm will come to you."

     The man's assurance carried no weight whatsoever.  The malevolent
look in his eyes was enough to convince Rebecca that no matter what she
did or said, she was marked for death, and the thought terrified her.
The small part of her mind that was still functioning was wondering what
had happened to everyone else.  Elliot's bike was gone, which was a good
sign;  it implied that he had left before the men had arrived.   As for
Cooper and Lisa, Rebecca had no idea where they had gone, but she had
enough presence of mind to be thankful that they too seemed to have
escaped somehow.

     Not knowing what else to do, Rebecca met the man's gaze with her
own and remained silent.
 
 

The girl gazed at him defiantly but said nothing, fueling Christophe's
impatience.  "Make no mistake," he told her.  "I have no time for games.
Tell me what I need to know."

     "I don't know anything," the girl replied.  "I just got home --
you heard me drive up.  I don't know where anyone has gone, and I don't
know anything about any disk."

     Christophe regarded her closely, wondering if she was lying.  He
had seen quite clearly that the Jeep she had arrived in was empty;  that
didn't mean, however, that she hadn't taken the girl he sought to some
other safe place before they had arrived.  However, the glimpse of fear
behind her eyes spoke of a lack of awareness that indicated that she might
indeed be telling the truth.  If she had been asked to hide Dana Scully,
he surmised, she would have at least some knowledge of the situation, and
that didn't appear to be the case.   For the moment, he decided to accept
her story at face value.

     "That may be true," he told her.  "Perhaps it is.  But you do live
here, correct?"

     The girl nodded, her dark eyes wide with panic.

     "Then I suppose you have the keys which unlock the adjacent
building."

     The girl hesitated, and Christophe could almost feel her weighing
her options.  Finally, she nodded again, more slowly and reluctantly this
time.

     "We need to get inside there.  I want you to take us, now."

     The girl nodded a third time, her head bobbing like that of a
puppet on a string, and she backed up towards the spot where she had
dropped her purse.  Fumbling inside it, she came up with a ring of keys,
and held them up towards him.

     Taking the keys from her, Christophe gave Mike a nod, and the man
prodded the girl with the gun, leading her towards the door.   They
stepped outside, their shoes squishing against the wet grass, and a
thought struck Christophe.

     "Wait here," he ordered Mike, and the man nodded in response,
keeping the gun trained on
the girl's neck.

     Alone, Christophe walked around the perimeter of the house,
looking closely at the ground.  Near a window on the far side, he noticed
some indentations in the grass, flattened impressions that looked a lot
like footsteps.  Further on, the grass dissipated into wet, muddy ground,
and there the footprints were much clearer.  Two sets from the look of it,
and a slow smile creased his face.

     Returning to where he had left his associate and the girl,
Christophe said, "There are footprints leading away from the house,
towards the hills.  Take her, and check the barn, and wait for me here."

     Mike nodded his acceptance of the orders, and Christophe pulled
his own gun from inside his coat, cocking and loading it.  Then he walked
away from them, heading back towards the muddy footprints.
 
 

Here endeth part 10... parts 11-16 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-10                               X-10
 

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